


In the Dying Light

by MarshmallowMcGonagall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Ginny Weasley, Dark Harry Potter, F/M, F/M/M, Godric's Hollow, HP Triad!Fest, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, The Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmallowMcGonagall/pseuds/MarshmallowMcGonagall
Summary: Six years after Dumbledore died, Harry appears to defeat Lord Voldemort but everyone flees the battlefield in the wake of a magical storm. In the depths of the nights which follow, someone unexpected arrives at the door of Harry and Ginny's safe house in Godric’s Hollow.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Ginny Weasley, Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49
Collections: HP Triad!Fest





	In the Dying Light

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to CheekyTorah for running this fest, for answering my many questions, and for being so wonderfully supportive. And of course, a huge thanks to my beta schweet_heart for their encouragement and for being a quite incredible beta.
> 
> Prompt #85

Lord Voldemort fell six years after Dumbledore fell from the Astronomy Tower. There were no cheers, no celebrations. Instead, a collective breath was held. The Order of the Phoenix and Death Eaters alike waited in stunned trepidation as the air was pulled from around them, dragged from their lungs, only to crash back around them in a violent storm of unstable magic. Everyone fled. When they should have been searching for remains, they looked instead for escape routes. No one noted the absence of a body or wand. Harry grabbed Ginny’s hand. In a turn practiced a thousand times over, he took her away to where it all began.

The cottage on the edge of Godric’s Hollow was an old structure of bare stone walls and a bare minimum of rooms. Harry had found the place abandoned years before and never told a soul. He returned on occasion to see that it was habitable and to reinforce his protections. A safe place. An escape. Ginny slipped her arms around him as he cast spell after spell, each incantation falling from his lips and more protection falling into place.

In the hours that followed, a relentless parade of Patronuses uttered the word “safe”. Harry and Ginny sat on the doorstep in the summer sun and sent their Patronuses out of habit. They didn’t say where they were.

Ginny watched Harry don the Cloak of Invisibility and disappear into the village. He returned with groceries, Muggle money left on the shop counter. In for the long haul.

Hours bled into days, and Harry and Ginny existed in dappled sunlight and hot nights. What dittany they had left was soon used up. There was little said between them in the wake of screamed commands and desperate pleas and final words. A battle which had been brought to an end without proof of defeat, without tangible victory, only the deep desire to run.

They slept with the windows open; the heat was suffocating if they didn’t. It was the sound of footsteps on the garden path which woke them in the early hours. The wards had given no warning. Ginny put her finger to her lips when there were three knocks at the front door. She slipped out of the bed. As her quick light steps took her down the small staircase, Harry noticed her wand was still beside the bed.

Harry followed, his wand in hand, to find the front door already open.

Tom Riddle was older than the last time Harry had seen him. How could it have been ten years since they met in the Chamber of Secrets? The last, soft suggestions of childish whims had been replaced by sharper lines and his eyes were a harder brown. He carried himself with an altered confidence, not simply because his Hogwarts robes were gone in favour of jeans and t-shirts like Harry’s. This was a difference in not simply knowing Dark Magic but having lived and breathed it. He was meant to have died by it. And still Tom Riddle stood in the open doorway, the Elder Wand hanging at his side by the tips of his fingers.

When Ginny came back upstairs and followed Harry to bed, Harry wondered if it was a dream, some shared hallucination. Tom had pushed her up against the hallway wall and in the next moment she had bounced and her legs were around him, something beyond sight in how they recognised each other. No questions as to who he was or how he was there. Just a welcome which until then she had reserved for Harry. And only Harry.

“You greeted him as if he was an old friend,” said Harry.

“He was,” said Ginny, defiant.

Tom returned the next night, three knocks splintering the dusk. Harry heard her come. Her panting breaths. Her moans of pleasure. The high pitched cry of her climax. The front door closed, the footsteps retreated from the cottage, and she came back upstairs, ready to pass Harry by until he grabbed her hand. In the absence of Quidditch, war kept them lean and strong. She pushed him against the wall and kissed him. Then she was walking away again. She threw her torn bra over a chair and it lay as if dissected by the moonlight. Harry rubbed his mouth, the barest trace of blood on his lips and no idea whose it was.

Tom wasn’t a ghost or an Inferi. He wasn’t there by way of polyjuice or a metamorphmagus. And Harry just knew. Knew it was him. Just as Ginny had greeted him, Harry knew without doubt who the man was, and still he wasn’t Lord Voldemort. Wasn’t the creature Harry had been fighting days before, the entity Harry had discovered he was raised to die for. Had Lord Voldemort died? Harry had come back to life. Or stopped being dead. He wasn’t sure what he was. Wasn't sure what Tom Riddle was. Days ago on the battlefield, no one had witnessed a death, only a disappearance.

Harry returned to bed and Ginny pulled him on top of her. He felt the proof of Tom being with her. There was no home anymore. Not beyond each other’s bodies. And Tom had been there. Harry retreated to the other side of the bed.

The morning brought sunlight flooding into the room and Ginny’s hair was glowing like fire, her eyes a promise of no regrets.

“What are we even fighting for, Harry?”

“The Light.” The stiff repetition, the mantra, and where had it got them?

“And what’s the Light now?” She turned away, the old mattress creaking, and stared out of the window. A cloudless bright blue sky and thatched roofs visible from where she lay. Birds chirped, hidden by the wealth of trees in leaf.

Sunlight swept across her bare back, a battlefield of scars interspersed with freckles. Harry pulled her towards him. She searched his face.

“Don’t make me wait,” she said. “Tom didn’t.”

“Ginny–”

“Why can’t I want you both?” Then came her laughter, a jarring outburst tearing through the quiet, which surrounded him in a rich heat the sun could never hope to compete with. Her tongue traced her lips, and she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “You’re not scared, are you?” She moved, intoxicated by joy as another peal of laughter burst forth from her. “You’re not so intimidated that you think it’s a competition?”

Harry got out of bed and hesitated near the door. Ginny approached him and in the molten dawn, she sank to her knees in front of him.

“Ginny,” he murmured.

She was all he was fighting for now. He didn’t know how long ago the change had happened. Perhaps when he’d realised the double agents really were all on Lord Voldemort’s side. Perhaps when another year dragged by with only more scars to show for it. Perhaps when Order meetings simply became a reason he wasn’t alone with her.

His hands in her hair. Her hands on him. Her soft lips. Her unrepentant tongue. He was undone at her touch. When she got to her feet, he tasted himself in her kiss.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Harry.”

The day would die, there would be three knocks, Ginny would open the door. And Harry would be standing at the top of the stairs. Sometimes sitting on the top step. Sometimes managing only for a moment to let his gaze linger on Ginny and Tom.

One night, Harry opened the door. Tom grabbed him, his lips meeting Harry’s with a ferocious desire. Harry slammed the door shut without breaking the kiss.

Hands on each other’s arms–whether to push away or pull closer was anyone's guess. Fingers digging into tense muscles. Anger ready to ignite like touch paper above a flame as Harry pulled away.

“I’ve kept fighting,” said Harry. “I’ve carried on.”

“You’ve done what you were moulded to do,” said Tom. “You were sculpted, and how they took a chisel to you.”

The worst part was that Harry knew Tom was right.

“You’ve been blinded by the Light, Harry,” said Tom. “Who was it who failed to protect you? Who was it who offered your parents a different destiny?”

“I killed you,” spat Harry, watching Tom’s lips and biting his own.

“I think we’re past dramatics, aren’t we?” said Tom. “I assure you, I’m quite alive.”

Tom’s hot breath, the sweet scent which Harry wanted little more than to lean closer to, the artery in his neck which Harry wanted to press his lips to.

“She knew,” whispered Tom. “What proof do you need?”

Tom’s sharp grin cut through Harry’s hesitation, and he grabbed Tom’s hair and pressed his lips against Tom’s. Soft, hot, real. Alive. Tom’s tongue was a welcome intrusion to Harry’s thoughts. Hands grasped the backs of heads and pulled at hips.

Harry pushed Tom against the wall, and Tom’s snarl stirred something almost forgotten in Harry as the mirror hanging beside Tom wobbled and crashed to the floor.

“Seven years bad luck,” said Harry.

“Seven is a magically powerful number,” said Tom.

“Then make it worth my while,” said Harry.

Ginny watched from the top of the stairs, a hesitation in her which curled into other sensations as the two men grasped each other, the undeniable proof in small touches that Tom was in control. When Tom left, Harry found Ginny in bed, not pretending to be asleep. That he was already spent didn’t matter; she soon had him begging at her touch for more. It was a small mercy, she thought, that neither let a different name escape their lips as they tried to catch their breath.

Ginny waited with Harry for the knock at the door. No time spared for polite greetings but instead lips on lips. Hands on bodies. And Ginny standing a few feet away.

“Your horcruxes,” said Harry.

“I’m here,” said Tom. “But go ahead, tell me you destroyed them all.”

Tom turned his head to look Ginny up and down, a burning desire in his eyes.

“She isn’t a horcrux,” stated Harry, bluntly.

“No,” crooned Tom. Then, in a whisper by Harry’s ear, “She’s better.” Harry closed his eyes as Tom’s warm breath caressed his neck. “She’s better.”

“I destroyed your diary,” said Harry.

“You didn’t destroy her,” said Tom. “I never really left.”

Harry’s heart was going to fly away. He groaned and forced his lips to move.

“What are you, then?” said Harry.

“A man,” said Tom, pushing Harry further against the wall so Harry felt each undulation in the stone against his back. “With more power than you can imagine. With everything I desire, except–”

Tom looked back and forth between Harry and Ginny, then pressed his lips to Harry’s, only to bite Harry’s lip, the pressure of his jaw in a delicate balance which swayed uncomfortably close to drawing blood. Then the traces of iron slipped across Harry’s tongue and he closed his eyes. He held out his hand.

“But of course,” said Tom, laughing against Harry’s mouth. “You thought I was trying to make you jealous, didn’t you?”

Ginny took Harry’s hand, and Harry’s fingers intertwined with hers, desperate to anchor himself with what little he knew to be true, to be real, to be alive, and his.

“We three have shared much,” said Tom. “A bed seems the perfect place to reacquaint ourselves with one another.”

Ginny pressed her lips to Harry’s cheek. A softness and warmth which Harry knew in the dark, in the middle of a fight, in the storm of uncertainty which had become life in the war. Her hair swept across his face and she pressed herself against him as she turned. Harry didn’t like the cold absence as Tom pulled away from him. Harry opened his eyes and saw Ginny’s lips meet Tom’s. Tom’s gaze flashed to Harry. Harry knew he didn’t need to say the words as Ginny walked away from them both.

The t-shirt she had been sleeping in moved against the curves of her body as she walked up the stairs. She didn’t look back, but ran her hand through her hair sending a cascade of red in waves down her back. The golden evening light caressed her and she appeared to walk as though fire longed to touch her, the warm glow of her skin, the flashes of flame in her hair. Her hand trailed along the bannister, fingers brushing the knots in the wood like so many scars she was used to having beneath her touch.

Harry reached for Tom’s hand without looking. The fingers he sought intertwined with his and Harry led Tom up the stairs.

Tom came every night. Harry and Ginny would wait for the creak of the garden gate, the footsteps up the garden path, the polite knock on the door. Three times, knuckles on wood, sharp, quick, hard.

Ginny opened the door and led Tom up the stairs. Tom brushed his hand across her bare thigh and hooked his fingers over her underwear as they ascended. She let his hand go as she walked into the bedroom and undressed. Harry got out of bed and Ginny watched the two men run their hands through the black hair of the other. Lips meeting without hesitation. Ginny came up behind Tom and reached around to undo his belt.

The ease disproportionate to the time it should have taken them to be this comfortable went unspoken. They’d bared their souls to each other for years. To let their bodies be bared was easy. Voices, whispers, commands had already beaten a path for lips, hands, hips.

Harry lay back on the crumpled bed sheets, Ginny astride him, Tom behind her.

“This doesn’t have to stop,” said Tom. “This could be the beginning.”

“Of a beautiful friendship?” scoffed Harry.

“Why not,” said Tom, “of a relationship?” Harry watched Tom’s hand sweep up Ginny’s body, over the curve of her breasts, and rest just shy of her neck. “We each of us know one another too deeply to blaspheme by calling this a friendship.”

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance as Ginny writhed gently at Tom’s unrelenting touch.

“We could be powerful,” Tom whispered in Ginny’s ear, loud enough for Harry to hear. Tom met Harry’s gaze, his crooked smile tugging deep at Harry.

“Harry, please,” said Ginny.

Tom stroked his fingers up Harry’s thigh.

“Three is a magically powerful number, Harry,” said Tom. “Three Hallows. Why not three lovers? Didn’t someone once say love was the most powerful form of magic?”

Ginny moved against Tom’s hand and elicited grunts from both men.

“We could have each other,” said Tom. “We could win.”

“Witch’s choice,” said Harry, groaning as his hand sought to bring Ginny more pleasure.

“Yes,” begged Ginny. “Yes.”

Tom moved harder against Ginny which threw her off balance. She fell forward, her red hair tumbling across her shoulders and back, her forehead coming to a rest on Harry’s chest. Harry looked over her shoulder as she moaned against him. Tom’s eyes glowed red then retreated to the dark brown Harry had begun to yearn for. A bitter smile graced Harry’s lips and, one hand on Ginny’s back, he reached out with the other. Tom’s hands moved across the curves of Ginny’s hips. One to press Harry’s hand into her back, the other to grab Harry’s proffered hand and with the sweetest unnatural smile, Tom pressed his lips to Harry’s fingers. The men looked at each other, their future between them and ahead of them.

Ginny kissed Harry’s shoulder, her chest against his back, her hand between Harry and Tom. Harry and Tom, their hands on each other’s faces, lips on lips only for Tom to stroke Harry’s lightning scar and for Harry to trace his tongue along Tom’s jaw. Ginny drifted back and forth between stroking them both, content to be in bed with them. She would take this victory. The two men in bed with her. The only two who knew her. The only ones she wanted. And she wanted both. Needed both. They would take over the world and she would conquer them. One lived for her and she had brought the other back.

Tom didn’t leave. Not that night, nor the next. Ginny would curl up between Harry and Tom, and the three lovers slept, bodies against each other, hands grasped, legs between one another's. There would be time for them to leave the hallowed softness of pillows and sheets, but in the dying light of the day the world would wait to be conquered while lips parted with the heavy breaths of slumber began to stir and pressed against a shoulder, neck, lips. In the dying light, they came together.


End file.
